


I Hope the Worst isn't Over

by valkyriered



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alcohol, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe, Angry Sex, Angst, Biker AU, Complicated Relationships, Drug Abuse, Drugs, Gang AU, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Oral Sex, Public Sex, Rough Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-07
Updated: 2017-07-07
Packaged: 2018-11-28 20:14:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11425350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valkyriered/pseuds/valkyriered
Summary: Biker AU. Shiro and Ulaz are no good for themselves, and they're definitely no good for each other.





	I Hope the Worst isn't Over

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Demenior](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Demenior/gifts).



> Endless shoutout to the beautiful Demenior, who helped come up with this AU and this plot and beta'd and was generally the best cheerleader a writer could ask for.
> 
> this fic is 100% sad porn so if you're not into that maybe skip it

Shiro is on his knees, and giggling. And Ulaz shouldn't be surprised or shocked by that, because lately it seems like that's been his default. On his knees and laughing with the pitchy, slightly-off breathy quality that he gets when he's had too much to drink and too many pills. Normally he's used to it, but this time it's getting on his nerves, and he thinks about telling him to shut up, but he's also had too much to drink. He regards the half-empty bottle of beer resting in his hand, and it's warm and flat but he takes another sip anyways.  
  
At least Shiro's quiet now, but that's almost worse, because the others are getting rowdier and he knows exactly what's going on behind that bar, and can hear someone whistling and a choked laugh. He promised it wouldn't get to him, and it doesn't, really. It shouldn't. It's the drugs more than anything, because he knows that Shiro will be irritating later, he's always irritating when he's drunk and high and horny.  
  
Antok makes a noise in the back of his throat, and Ulaz knows that it's over, and he grips his bottle a little tighter. And then there's Shiro's voice again. Ulaz steals a glance over, sees Antok bent over and grinning down to where Shiro is hidden from view by the bar. He has a bottle of dark liquor in his hand, and he takes a swig before bending low and spitting it out-- into Shiro's mouth, probably. He likes that kind of shit. Shiro's always like that, reveling in the attention that he gets, when he takes off his clothes, or gets on his knees, or is dancing onstage. He's always like that.  
  
Ulaz sighs and sits back in his seat, and ignores the looks he's getting. He knows he's pouting. Shiro gets to do what he wants, but fuck-- he's going to be annoying tonight.  
  
Shiro climbs to his feet, and Ulaz can see him look over at him and smile.  
  
Scratch that, he's going to be annoying _now_.  
  
Shiro strides over to him with that swing of his hips that he gets when he's just had a dick in his mouth, and Ulaz bites back the disgust.  
  
"Hey." Shiro says, his voice lower and huskier than usual, none of that fake, pitchy shit he talks to the guys with when he's trying to get attention or booze or drugs. Shiro climbs right into Ulaz's lap, and Ulaz hates how easily he moves his arm so Shiro can get comfortable, and tilts his head so Shiro can rest his head against his shoulder.  
  
Ulaz doesn't say anything back, but when Shiro goes in for a kiss, Ulaz shoves his head away. "Clean your fucking mouth." He says, and it comes out mean and harsh and he doesn't really care.  
  
"I did." Shiro's nuzzling at Ulaz's throat, so clearly he's not offended. "Antok gave me a shot."  
  
"Out of his mouth."  
  
"Cleaner than yours." Shiro says, and there's snark and hurt there, so maybe he was offended.  
  
Whatever.  
  
Shiro goes in for a kiss again, and this time Ulaz lets him, because he doesn't care and because Shiro always gets what he wants. Of course he does. He's gotten so used to it, dancing at the club has taught him that if he's slutty and kittenish enough, he'll get anything. Ulaz used to like watching him from behind the bar, but now it's just annoying, watching Shiro happily take the cash from whoever offers it, and drugs from just about anyone.  
  
His mouth tastes like dick and rum and has the too-sharp tang of oxy, and Ulaz doesn't care, just shoves his tongue in Shiro's mouth as if to say 'mine.' Shiro makes a quiet noise, rolls his hips against Ulaz's. They're practically in public, in the middle of the clubhouse, but it's tame considering what usually goes on there. Considering what the other strippers are probably doing right now. Shiro makes a noise in the back of his throat, and Ulaz grabs Shiro's ass so tightly his nails dig into it, and Shiro hisses and bites his lower lip.  
  
It fucking hurts, and Ulaz pulls back to snarl at him. Shiro just rolls his hips again, the picture of innocence except for the scars all over him, and the fake arm, and the tight clothes that he's put on for this party.  
  
"Slut." Ulaz bites out.  
  
"Fuck you." Shiro hisses back. His pupils are blown, it's clear that he's high and totally fucking out of it, and Ulaz wonders if he'll remember this tomorrow morning. Shiro crawls closer to Ulaz, his knees on either side of his hips, his dick grinding right up against Ulaz. "I want to go home." He murmurs. "Can we go home?”  
  
Ulaz is probably too drunk to drive, but he knows the roads, and this wouldn't be the first time, and Shiro's dick feels really nice against his.  
  
"Yeah." Ulaz shoves him off, takes only a bit of satisfaction in the way Shiro almost hits the floor. He's still scrambling after Ulaz, though, and a few of the other Blades are whistling and laughing at the way Shiro follows him around.  
  
Shiro and Ulaz are always a source of comedy. The fact that Ulaz somehow allows Shiro to live with him, despite Shiro constantly sleeping around for drugs or money or whatever he wants that week. They'll tease him for watching Shiro from behind the bar, for letting Shiro ride his motorcycle when he asks.  
  
Shiro says 'bye' to someone, and Ulaz gives Kolivan a cursory nod before stepping outside. The biting cold is sudden and sobering, and Ulaz blinks rapidly before fishing his keys out of his pocket. The motorcycles all look similar in the dark, but Ulaz's trained eyes can pick out the differences, the small modifications that they've all made, the different makes and models.  
  
Shiro is leaning against him now, nuzzling against his leather jacket. He's probably cold. He barely wears anything.  
  
Ulaz pulls his helmet off of his bike, then reaches over and takes Antok's from his bike. It's going to be too big for Shiro, but well-- so is Antok.  
  
He tosses Shiro his own, and puts on Antok's. Shiro barely has his helmet on before Ulaz is straddling his bike, turning it on, feeling the familiar thrum of it beneath him. He waits only a moment for Shiro to climb on behind him before tearing out of the parking lot.  
  
On the back of the bike, Shiro turns his head to rest it against the back of Ulaz's broad shoulders. Shiro likes this-- he would never admit it, but it's nice to just be here, and quietly touch Ulaz, and be close to him. He closes his eyes and feels the wind on his arms and know that he's really, really fucked up at this point. It's cold and refreshing and also too much. He wraps his arms a little tighter around Ulaz's waist and watches the landscape go by.  
  
His mind drifts for a bit, and he moves his hand lower to rub experimentally against Ulaz’s crotch. He feels rather than hears the sharp inhale. Shiro grips a little tighter, not necessarily horny, but it's nice to feel in control again. He likes the way Ulaz reacts when his hands are on his dick, like he can do something to him, like he'd let Shiro do anything sometimes.  
  
Shiro undoes his button with practiced ease and slides his hand in his pants, wraps it around Ulaz's half-hard cock. He closes his eyes and gives it a solid stroke, and the bike swerves minutely. Ulaz is pretty drunk, he thinks. Maybe if he grips hard enough Ulaz will crash, and spatter them both across the pavement. Maybe they'd go careening into the trees.  
  
Shiro grips harder and strokes again, and feels Ulaz growl, and smiles into his leather jacket. Probably unsafe. He looks out at the trees whipping past them as they go down the near-abandoned highway, and drifts, occasionally rubbing his thumb against the hollow of Ulaz's hip.  
  
It's quiet except for the low roar of the motorcycle, and even that only registers as white noise. It's as close to peaceful as Shiro has experienced in a long time, and he breathes in the almost-silence like it's something that can save him.  
  
They get home too quickly. They get home, and Ulaz's motorcycle rolls over the gravel and lights up his dingy trailer, and suddenly Shiro is back on Earth, and back in the too-cold air and he can feel the drugs and alcohol again, and they're pulling him down. He wants to stay on the motorcycle forever. He wants to keep driving until they fall off the edge of the Earth and end up somewhere else entirely. He thinks of space and everything he left behind, and the bike shifts as Ulaz throws down the stand and climbs off. Shiro lets his hands slide off of Ulaz's waist.  
  
"Shiro." Ulaz says, and he's gruff but at least he's not being mean like earlier. Shiro registers it in the back of his mind before robotically climbing off the bike and pulling off his helmet. He knows he's coming down. He wants more to drink, he wants more drugs. The ride sobered him up too much and now he feels like he might be sick.  
  
Ulaz repeats his name, and then they're stumbling back towards his trailer, going up the steps without touching, and Ulaz unlocks the door and shoulders it open. The trailer smells stale-- they've barely been there the past few days. Shiro has been working at the club, and Ulaz has been working at the club, and between the two of them they probably sleep there and at the clubhouse more than they're ever home.  
  
When they are home, they're definitely not cleaning. It's not dirty, but it's not uncluttered either. There are empty bottles and a few books and an unloaded gun laying on the kitchen counter next to a mess of bullet shells. Shiro shivers. He doesn't like it laying there, he doesn't like being able to just reach out and take it. He swallows and looks away, watches at Ulaz begins the process of stumbling towards the bathroom, flicking on lights as he goes. Shiro prefers to stay in the dark, where it's safe and comfortable. Ulaz shrugs out of his jacket and tosses it on the counter as he walks by.  
  
Instead, he's blinking in the yellow light and its glare as he follows after Ulaz. He watches, distantly, leaning against the doorframe of the bathroom as Ulaz strips out of his clothes. The jacket may have earned a spot on the kitchen counter, but everything else gets tossed on the floor-- his t-shirt, his ratty jeans, his underwear. Shiro's eyes drift between his legs as Ulaz turns on the shower and experimentally runs his hand under it.  
  
"It's not cold." He reports. Sometimes it's too cold, and they take turns huddling under the freezing water, washing off the worst of the grime before wrapping themselves in towels. Ulaz pushes back the curtain and steps in, wetting his hair before glancing over at Shiro.  
  
"Are you coming?"  
  
"...Yeah." Shiro says, and steps into the bathroom and mechanically undoes his button and fly, shifts his hips to shove down his jeans. His tank top comes next, and he notices that it's stained, and he hates himself a bit.  
  
He climbs into the shower after Ulaz, and the luke-warmth of the water eases him back into the semi-drugged haze that the cold ruined. He still wants more, but it's too late, and Ulaz doesn't have any. (And probably wouldn't give him any even if he had.)  
  
"Shampoo." Shiro says quietly, and Ulaz pours some into his hand, and Shiro halfheartedly rubs it through his hair before letting the water run through it. The oxy makes the water against his scalp feel warm and soft, and he leans against Ulaz's chest as it runs through it, and down his back. He shivers.  
  
Ulaz stoops down to nuzzle against his ear, rolls his hips in an almost-suggestion.  
  
"D'you want me to blow you?" Shiro asks, already reaching down between Ulaz's thighs.  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Okay." Shiro says, and gets on his knees. The water is running down his hair and into his face, so Shiro closes his eyes and swallows Ulaz's cock. It's softer than it usually is, probably from drinking, he thinks. He's good at this, though. He's had practice. Ulaz isn't as big as Antok, but he's more enthusiastic. He makes little half-breathy noises, swears under his breath, sometimes digs his fingers into Shiro's scalp, which he likes. It hurts a little bit this time, maybe from the sting of the shampoo.  
  
He finishes quickly, and Shiro spits and watches it swirl down the drain.  
  
"You didn't spit earlier." And trust Ulaz to be offended by that.  
  
"How do you know?"  
  
"Antok would've killed you for getting that on the floor."  
  
Shiro shrugs, and wipes at his mouth. He always swallows, but sometimes it's nice to spit when he can. He climbs to his feet, struggling a little bit, but Ulaz pulls him up the rest of the way.  
  
"Did you swallow too much tonight?" Ulaz whispers against his ear, and it sounds mean, but it's hot too and Shiro's breath catches in his throat. "Did too many people fuck your tight little mouth tonight?"  
  
Shiro inhales sharply. Ulaz rinses off the last of the soap and climbs out of the shower, leaving Shiro standing there, hard and soapy and cold.  
  
He finishes scrubbing up quickly, and trails after Ulaz like he always does. There aren't any towels left in the bathroom, so he dries himself off with his tank top and then puts on Ulaz’s dirty t-shirt. It's soft and big and smells like him. Ulaz is sprawled across his bed, wearing a t-shirt and boxers, watching Shiro.  
  
"Do you want something clean?"  
  
Shiro swallows. "It smells like you."  
  
Ulaz doesn't say anything to that. Instead, he pats the covers between his legs. Shiro crawls between them, nuzzles at his crotch. "Do it right this time." Ulaz says, and Shiro doesn't say anything about how Ulaz sounds hurt, and angry. He doesn't point out that there's no way Ulaz is going to get hard, because he's drunk and he already came tonight.  
  
Instead he pushes down the waistband of his boxers and takes Ulaz's soft cock in his mouth, and sucks on it, because maybe it'll make him feel better. He hears the noises Ulaz makes in the back of his throat, knows that he's probably overstimulated, and there's no way this feels good.  
  
Eventually Ulaz pushes him off, and Shiro sits back on his ankles and looks at Ulaz. He's embarrassed. He's embarrassed that it's obvious that he's hurt, and that he can't get hard, and that the fact that Shiro spitting somehow hurt his feelings.  
  
Shiro's a little surprised too.  
  
He rolls over to the side, just far enough on the bed that they're not touching.  
  
Ulaz turns his head to look at Shiro, the way his white shock of hair is plastered to his forehead, how his shirt is a little damp and sticks to the lines of his chest. "Are you wearing underwear?"  
  
"No."  
  
Ulaz reaches over, running his hand between Shiro's legs. Shiro inhales, spreads his legs wider. Ulaz runs a dry hand over his cock, and it's too much friction and hurts a little bit, but Shiro likes it, and so he arches his back, languidly rolls his hips against Ulaz's fist. He's barely moving it, instead watching Shiro fuck his fist.  
  
"Do you want me to finger you?" Ulaz asks.  
  
"Yeah."  
  
Ulaz rolls over, retrieves the lube from his side table. He cracks it open and pours it over his fingers clinically, pouring just on the edge of too much before smearing it between his fingers and returning to Shiro.  
  
He unceremoniously slips a finger into Shiro, moving it around to find his prostate with practiced ease.  
  
"You're loose." Ulaz comments, and slides in another finger, and Shiro knows that he's lying because nobody fucked his ass tonight. He's just being bitter and possessive and mean. They can't have what they want, and so Ulaz needs to be mean.  
  
Sometimes Shiro's mean too, though. Sometimes he blows Antok right in front of Ulaz, because he knows that it bothers him and he knows that he hates the way Shiro has to stretch his jaw to fit Antok's whole, heavy cock down his throat.  
  
"Fuck you." Shiro bites out, and then gasps as Ulaz firmly taps against his prostate. He arches his back and breathes, and Ulaz taps it again, just to fuck with him. Just to be mean. It's too fast, and Ulaz knows it, and he knows that Shiro doesn't like it like that. He's not touching Shiro except for where his fingers are inside him, and it's no good, and it doesn't feel right, so Shiro throws out a hand and twists his fingers into Ulaz's t-shirt.  
  
Ulaz looks right at him, all golden eyes staring right into his fucking soul, and he feels his breath leave him for a second. He knows how fucked up Shiro is. He watches Shiro do lines and swallow pills and dance onstage for money, and then takes him home and makes him food and fucks his brains out. He knows every dirty piece of Shiro, and it takes his breath away. That someone could know all of this and still touch him.  
  
He thinks about home, and everything that he left behind. Empty spacesuits and the Garrison and all the friends that probably think he's dead, or laying in a ditch alone somewhere. He'd rather they think he's dead than know the truth. Dead is safe, dead is good because they can remember him as Shiro, who is pure and sweet and smart, who worked hard in school and didn't do anything wrong until he did everything wrong.  
  
Ulaz moves his wrist suddenly, and Shiro cries out. With his other hand Ulaz reaches over to pull Shiro's borrowed t-shirt off of his dick and bunch it up right above his abs. It's probably a good idea. Ulaz hates it when he comes on his clothes.  
  
Shiro holds on a little tighter to Ulaz's shirt, staring right into him. _I know you._ He thinks. _I know every dirty piece of you. I know all the ways you hate yourself, I can count them twice on every finger and run out of space._ He doesn't know where Ulaz came from. Ulaz doesn't know where he came from, either, but somehow that doesn't count. Knowing things about someone isn't really knowing them. Their pasts don't matter here. Ulaz shoves in another finger, and his hands are thick and rough and three is just on the edge of too-much, but it’s tight like they both like it, and Shiro rolls his hips against him, pulling his knees to his chest so Ulaz can go deeper.  
  
He's close. Shiro arches his back, and cries out, but he doesn't close his eyes or tear his gaze away. Ulaz is still looking at him so intently, and Shiro wants to hold onto that for as long as he can, this brief moment of intimacy and honesty.  
  
His orgasm hits him like a bullet train, and he comes too quickly and too hard. He feels it spatter across his stomach, hisses and jerks as Ulaz withdraws his fingers too fast. He climbs over Shiro, breathing heavily, and runs his fingers through the come, scooping it up before pushing them deep into Shiro's mouth, so he has to taste it, so he chokes on it.  
  
It takes him a minute, but he closes his lips over Ulaz's fingers, and he sucks, and he keeps his eyes trained on his. The moment is over-- Ulaz isn't looking at him anymore, just the way his mouth works over his fingers as he sucks.  
  
When he's done, he pushes Ulaz's mouth out of his hand, and rolls over to grab at one of the abandoned bottles on the nightstand. It's beer, warm and flat and stale, probably from a few nights before. He takes a swig to clear the taste of lube and come from his mouth.  
  
Ulaz is laying down with his back to him, and when Shiro is settled again Ulaz reaches over to turn out the light. Through the broken blinds on the window Shiro can see the first grey light of dawn. He sighs, and rolls over, and presses his forehead in between Ulaz's shoulderblades.  
  
In the fuzzy dark, Ulaz stiffens, and rolls onto his back so Shiro can rest his head on his chest. He drops a hand onto Shiro's shoulders, and runs his thumb over the soft, clean skin of his arm.  
  
It's a shallow intimacy, but he'll take it.


End file.
